Disclaimer: The characters and properties of Harry Potter all belong to J.K.R. May her genius never end. Bury Lawn school actually is a private school in England, but only the name is really used here.

A.N.: Well, almost every Harry's AU childhood fics have him living on the steps of poverty and abuse - often times both. I've decided to change that. Of course, Harry wouldn't be Harry if he didn't have something to moan about...

A.N. 2: No matter how many times I rewrite this, even the first chapter is incapable of satisfying my muse. Finicky bitch.

Hugh Cabot was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His ancestors, descent from the nobles of old, had moved to Great Britain from France centuries before his birth, their original name of Capet being typically butchered before long. He went to Bury Lawn, a private school, for his primary education, but was sent to Eton for his secondary education instead of continuing at Bury Lawn - both schools had cost a hefty amount of money, many thousands of pounds a year, but that had never been an issue, because Hugh was a Cabot. He took and passed his O-Levels, then his A-Level exams, all with flying colors - for nothing less would do, and went on to university. Hugh studied at Oxford like the dutiful son he was, all the while learning from his father, Janlan Cabot, how to slowly take over Cabot Enterprises, a multi-billion dollar shipping industry created at the bored whims of Hugh's great-grandfather, more than a century back.

When Hugh was twenty-six, he was matched up with Adelaide Duncan, the only child of another wealthy family, who was twenty-one at the time. Hugh was a dashing young man, clean cut and blessed with angular features, as well as honey-blond hair and piercing green eyes. Adelaide was equally appealing to the eyes, her black hair and dark brown eyes providing a shocking, yet not unpleasant, contrast. They were deemed the perfect couple. They married when Hugh was twenty-eight, and Hugh took over Cabot Enterprises the moment he came back from the honeymoon, as was tradition. In truth, Hugh was more than wealthy enough to never work a day in his life and still have enough to give his future great-grandchildren an equally comfortable life, but that did not stop him from working - because Cabots were not sit-on-your-bum types; they were the go-into-the-world-and-conquer types, who never failed in all that they aspired to.

Except, when Hugh was thirty-one, he and Adelaide found out that they could not have children. Or, more specifically, Hugh could not have children. Ah, if only it had been Adelaide, solving the problem would have been so much easier. Had Adelaide been the infertile one, Hugh could have simply divorced her and remarried for his heir - but it was Hugh who was incapable, and no amount of remarrying could change that. Of course, neither of them wanted this to get out - imagine the scandal, how everyone would talk behind their backs!

And so, they - Hugh and Adelaide - bent their heads together over the problem, finally reaching a decision. Adoption was the answer, and it could be done during a two-year-long vacation they would take visiting their various estates across the globe, so that they could claim that Adelaide had conceived and given birth during the trip.

Then the little details had to be hammered out. Adopting from a high-profile orphanage was simply out of the question; they had managed to silence the doctor who had diagnosed their problem on the promise of ruining his career if he ever let slip, but adoption meant paperwork. No, better to go to a small-town, quaint little place, where the workers could easily be quailed and/or bought into keeping their mouths shut.

For a long while, they despaired of ever finding the right child. In fact, it was only when they were nearing their deadline, with only two months or so to go, that they found the perfect baby in a county southwest of London - called Surrey.

The manager of the orphanage looked like he had seen better times before - much like the orphanage itself. But that was good, because it meant that the promise of money would hold sway, so Hugh and Adelaide tolerated his anxious hovering.

"His name?" Adelaide asked a trifle cooly, in an attempt to disguise the way her heart fluttered in her chest. After all this time...

The lean man bowed; he did not know who these people were, exactly, save for the fact that they were wealthy and willing to donate money to both the orphanage and to his private accounts, if he was helpful. And he was trying his very best to be helpful. "The couple that dropped him off left his papers as well, signed papers absolving themselves of guardianship - his name is Harry Potter. Fourteen months old."

Hugh was surprised. Most abandoned babies didn't have papers; then again, most abandoned babies were left on the front stoop, not hand delivered like the manager said this one had been. More's the advantage - now they could have him secretly adopted. And change his name, of course.

"He can't be called Harry," Adelaide said firmly, and Hugh nodded, pleased. While theirs was a marriage of convenience more than anything else, there was some fondness there, and many times like these when his wife seemed to be thinking on the same wavelength he was. They did make a good couple, in practical terms. "It's far too plain - no one would ever believe we'd name our child that."

The couple didn't so much as spare him a glance; Hugh simply nodded, and the man scampered off to draw up the necessary papers.

Thinking deeply for a moment, Adelaide suggested, "Lucas? That was your grandfather's name."

"And I hated him," Hugh said flatly. "What about Harold?"

"We don't want it to be so close to his former name," Adelaide disagreed. "Perhaps it could serve as his middle name, but..." She thought some more, and smiled a little as inspiration struck her. "Tristan. We must name him Tristan."

When she had been growing up, she had been obsessed with Arthurian Legend, especially one particular tragic love story. Not that the love triangle between Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot hadn't been interesting, but in Adelaide's eyes, nothing could top the beautiful tale of Tristan and his Isolde.

Hugh furrowed his brows, considering. "Tristan." A good name, strong. He liked it, and told her so, making her smile again, a tad dreamily. Running a finger over the curve of the sleeping babe's cheek, he, too, smiled a little.

And Harry Potter, soon to be Tristan Harold Cabot, slumbered on, not knowing that he was now the heir to an entire enterprise, not knowing that - somewhere out there - wizards and witches of all shapes and sizes were toasting his name.

Nor would he realize that when his name was legally changed, his old name disappeared from the magical book at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, only to be replaced with his new name. For that matter, no one would realize this little fact until ten years later.

A.N. 3: The real Hugh Capet was actually the king of France, who ruled from from 987 to 996. His wife was Adelaide of Aquitaine, and he was the son of Hugh the Great - the Duke of France - and Hedwig of Saxony. Which is why I used Hugh and Adelaide Cabot as the names of Harry's new parents - and only the names. Nothing else is the same with the historical figures, nor are they the descendants of Hugh Capet, though they are pretty rich blood.

TBC…

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